Chapter 30

André was right. That is what France was. And to endure, to thrive, weakness must be trampled below one’s heels, when you reached a position to lace yourself into a pair. It was the only way to survive. To rise above, you had to climb the pile of corpses.

His eyes met the twin towers of the Notre Dame rising higher than any of the new taverns and shops erected since he’d last been here. In the morning mists of the Seine, the cathedral seemed ablaze on its island. Almost. Low clouds munched the tops of the towers, as if they belched plumes of smoke. Internal fires burned. The cathedral was an almighty furnace, cooking them all. The real Master Baker, not men, but the beast they’d created. The grand p?tissier, society. It was all a tremendous and terrible machine. André was right. And they all served it.